


connect the dots

by nadin



Series: in sickness and in health [1]
Category: Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Diana is terrible at dealing with inconveniences, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, shameless fluff, steve is the best boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25421251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nadin/pseuds/nadin
Summary: WonderTrev Love Week 2020Day 7 - Free for all“I swear to god I will duct-tape oven mitts to your hands,” Steve said one afternoon, both of them frustrated with another.Diana stared at him, aghast. “Why on earth… That’s barbaric!”... in which Diana, unexpectedly and inexplicably, gets chickenpox.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Steve Trevor
Series: in sickness and in health [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893313
Comments: 17
Kudos: 114





	connect the dots

**Author's Note:**

> Look, we all know that canonically, it is not very likely that Diana would ever get sick, but please play along just this once, for the sake of some fluff and lots of humour. 
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope you'll like it as much.

The headache she’d had last night as she was leaving the office should have clued Diana in that something was terribly, awfully wrong.

She had never had one before, and the pressure behind her eyes that had started to build in the second half of the day had been distracting and uncomfortable. It reminded her, in an odd way, of the days she had spent training with her sisters and the blows she had sustained then, in the times when she had been too slow to dodge them. Or too arrogant to assume they would miss.

She had written it off to a long day and the intense meeting she’d had earlier and the fact that she hadn’t had a real day off in a few weeks, certain that she would feel better by morning, after a proper meal and some rest.

In retrospect, she should have known better.

When her alarm went off the next day, Diana awoke with a scratchy throat and hot pulsing in the back of her skull and the feeling like something had slammed her into a wall, a few times. Something she had experienced before during a fight, but never—after a good night’s sleep.

She pressed her face into her pillow with a groan and debated, for only a moment, staying home from work. Just this once, she thought. Never mind the staff meeting scheduled for the morning, or the conference call, or—

“Rise and shine,” Steve murmured, just as sleepily, next to her and hit the alarm button to shut it off.

Diana felt him shift and lean forward to kiss her shoulder. Next, he would usually slide his arm around her waist and she would turn her face up for his mouth to find hers. And more often than not, that would be when he’d try to talk her into staying in bed for another hour, or a few.

Sometimes, she would even give in.

This time though, Steve went still next to her. 

“What’s this?” he asked in an alarmed voice as he brushed her hair from her cheek, his thumb trailing over her chin and the line of her jaw next.

Diana rolled onto her side and opened her eyes. “What’s what?” she asked, distracted enough by his odd behaviour to forget, for a moment, about her own discomfort.

He ignored her question and instead ran his palm over her shoulder before yanking the covers off of them both and yanked up the shirt she slept in.

“What in the name of gods are you doing?” Diana demanded as she pulled it back down.

Ignoring her question, he then pressed his palm to her forehead, his frown deepening with each passing moment and panic starting to gather behind his eyes—like a storm rolling in on a clear summer day. She did not like it one bit.

“Steve…”

“You have a fever,” he interjected, dumbfounded.

Diana felt her brows knit together. “No, I don’t—”

“And this,” he added, grabbing her wrist and pointing at her forearm.

She looked down, confused momentarily before she noticed a smattering of red dots adorning her skin. There were more of them too—running along her arm and over her wrist. Her gaze moved lower still to notice some on her thighs. And when she inched up her shirt—on her stomach, too. They reminded her of the mosquito bites that Steve had been covered with after their trip to Italy last summer where they had half eaten him on their visit to a vineyard.

Except, there had been no trip to Italy this time and it was, in fact, early March.

“I don’t…” Diana started and trailed off.

“Chickenpox,” Steve said, with dismay.

She lifted her eyes to his in mild incomprehension.

“Chickenpox?”

* * *

“How are you even sick? Aren’t you supposed to be immune to… everything?” Steve asked in utter bewilderment.

Diana gave him a hard look and grumbled around the thermometer sticking out of her mouth. Probably in Greek. Probably something unflattering that he was better off not catching anyway. 

Her skin felt hot, her cheeks flushed, but he still ushered her to the living room and dug out their first aid kit that had only been used on him up until this moment, on the off chance that he was wrong. How was it even possible? To his memory, she had never even had so much as the common cold. 

Yet, in the bright morning light, the rash was unmistakable.

She looked odd too—weary in a way he had never seen her before. Confused, too, and clearly uncomfortable. His heart twisted in his chest at the thought that it must have been all very unsettling for her.

The electronic thermometer beeped and Steve pulled it from under her tongue, whistling a little under his breath when he checked its reading.

“I have to go to work,” Diana said, defiantly.

“You’re not going to work.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “I have a meeting.”

“You will infect everything who hasn’t had chickenpox or wasn’t vaccinated,” Steve countered as he set the thermometer down.

Her face fell. “But you…”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, moving towards her. His eyes searched hers. “I’m fine, I swear. I had it when I was 6. The worst two weeks of my life, but nothing to cry about. I mean, they had to shave my head…” he trailed off when her expression turned into one of utter mortification. 

“Two weeks?” she echoed, sounding more than a little horrified.

“Hey, c’mere,” he murmured, and she moved readily into his arms. “I’m okay, you’ll be okay. Everything will be okay. We won’t be shaving your head, I promise. You’re going to call in sick and I’ll…” he paused as he went through a mental itinerary. “And I’ll cancel our dinner reservation for tonight.”

Diana tucked her face into the crook of his neck, her breath hot against his skin and her body warmer than he liked beneath her thin shirt, and muttered something under her breath. If Steve had to venture a guess, he’d say that she was cursing a handful of gods for making her deal with this disgraceful nonsense.

He chuckled and planted a kiss to her hair. “Welcome to the world of mere mortals.”

* * *

Diana made calls to explain her situation and move her schedule around while Steve made her breakfast that stayed mostly untouched, save for the lemon tea that she appeared to favour. He made her another cup and talked her into taking something to knock down the fever, more than a little alarmed by how little fight she put up before swallowing the pills.

Eventually, after he had coaxed her into having at least some toast, they ended up on the couch with a remote and a hundred TV channels to browse.

“Why is it so uncomfortable?” Diana muttered.

Settled into his side, she was rigid and tense, unable to relax when she was trying very hard not to scratch her arms after Steve had explained to her that it was only going to make things worse. _(“How can it be worse when it already feels so awful?”_ she had demanded, but he had no answer to that, and had smartly decided not to bring up her calling him unnecessarily dramatic every time he would catch the flu.)

“I don’t think being sick is meant to feel nice,” Steve noted.

He turned his head to press a kiss to the crown of her head, neither of them paying much attention to the car chase happening on the screen.

Absently, he ran his hand up and down her arm and she hummed in appreciation. And again, when it seemed to have soothed her.

“Yes, right there,” she murmured. “And there’s a spot on my back—” 

Steve froze, his face twisting into a grimace. “No. Don’t even think about it.” He waved towards the screen. “Look at this guy, he’s trying to break into a safe. Think about him.”

“He’s inside the safe,” Diana pointed out, and he glanced down at her, impressed, certain, up until this moment, that neither one of them had been following the plot. “He is trying to break out.”

She shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and muttered a quiet curse. His hand darted out, curling around her wrist when she reached to rub it over her side.

“Don’t do that,” he repeated.

She glowered at him. “By the gods, Steve. This itching is maddening!”

He glowered back, then rolled his eyes. “Okay, take off your shirt.”

Diana blinked, caught off-guard. “Now? Really? I don’t think—You can’t possibly want me when I’m like this.”

But he was shaking his head and heaving a sigh as he got up and headed towards the bathroom only to return moments later with a bottle of lotion.

“Take off your shirt, Diana,” he repeated as he doused a cotton ball with a, surprisingly, nice-smelling liquid that he, personally, was closely acquainted with.

She complied without argument, more curious than anything, he figured.

He lowered down on the couch behind her, one leg folded beneath him, and started to carefully run the cotton ball over her shoulder blades and the curve of her spine. Felt her relax almost immediately, too, enjoying the cooling effect.

“What is this?” she inquired, after a minute while he continued to work on the tender spots that bothered her the most.

“It’s for bites and burns,” he explained. “It should help a little.”

She nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer.

“I always want you,” Steve said after another minute or two as he pushed aside a few stray curls near the nape of her neck that had escaped the loose twist she’d gathered her hair into. “Just for the record.”

Diana turned her head slightly to the side. “Are you trying to seduce me?” she inquired, a smile in her voice.

“Always,” he said, making her let out a small laugh. “But I do prefer you to be a little more lucid than this. Turn around.”

She did. He touched the cotton ball to her cheek, then her chin, pleased to see her cheeks were no longer as flushed as a few hours ago.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

Diana rolled her eyes, a traitorous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

“You’re ridiculous.”

Steve chuckled under his breath. “You’re still beautiful. Now, take off your pants.”

* * *

He should have known she would make a terrible patient.

If he had to guess, Diana had never been confined to a place she didn’t want to be or stopped from doing what she wanted to do. Had never felt that unwell either, what with her cuts and bruises normally healing almost instantly, her perception of pain and dealing with limitations different from that of humans.

By day two, she was frustrated and irritable because she was bored, and she was bored because there was nothing that she could do for an extended period of time without getting tired or distracted by her discomfort. She tried working—and Steve left her to it, only to find her in the kitchen ten minutes later, rubbing her forehead while she waited for the kettle to boil because looking at the laptop screen was giving her a headache.

She tried reading or doing crossword puzzles but the itching would soon catapult her from her chair and have her pacing the room instead as she squirmed and tried to ignore the unpleasant sensation. As good as the lotion was, it didn’t give quite the effect she was yearning for, and there was little that could be done to help, save for being patient and waiting for it to pass.

She didn’t particularly like that plan.

Steve hated seeing her so miserable, but loved, deep down, being the only one who could comfort her, and how she sought him out when she needed him. He liked, secretly and a little selfishly, that he was the only one ever to be allowed to see her this vulnerable, though he didn’t take pride in it, ashamed of the thought even crossing his mind. He tried very, very hard not to let the panic and unease coalescing inside of him take over, frightened more than he was willing to let on that the virus could be worse for someone like her than for an ordinary person even though her fever had gone down, and her appetite was getting better. 

By day three, he started to wonder if maybe he should hide her sword, and all their kitchen knives, just to be safe. It was a little amusing and somewhat terrifying to deal with a goddess who was more than a little inconvenienced by something she couldn’t control or defeat at will—though he chose to keep this particular observation to himself. 

“I swear to god I will duct-tape oven mitts to your hands,” Steve said one afternoon, both of them frustrated with another.

Diana stared at him, aghast. “Why on earth… That’s barbaric!”

“Then stop scratching,” he growled. He shook his head and heaved a weary sigh. God help them all if she didn’t get well soon. He rubbed his eyes tiredly—neither of them was sleeping well—and reached for her hand then, weaving his fingers through her. “Come on, let’s play scrabble.”

By day five, he started to pray to all gods he could think of that she’d never get sick again—for her sake, of course, but also for the sake of everyone else, for Diana in a state of distress was a handful, to put it mildly. It reminded him, oddly, of what she had been like in her early days in man’s world when the novelty of everything and her own bullheaded stubbornness would get the best of her. 

At times, it was infuriating, but mostly, Steve had to admit, it was strangely endearing. 

“Are you trying to heal me, or cook me?” she inquired skeptically when Steve drew her an oat bath.

“It will help, I promise,” he assured her. “Get in.”

She started to pull her shirt off, but paused, regarding him curiously.

“Are you coming with?”

Steve pressed his lips around a smile and tried very, very hard not to laugh. Or say yes.

“Let’s say I _am_ trying to cook you—someone needs to stay here and stir,” he pointed out, earning a smile from her so majestic it almost hurt to look.

She stripped down obediently and Steve lowered down to his knees, folding his arms over the lip of the tub after she’d settled.

“Does it always feel so bad?” Diana asked him then. “To be ill?”

“No.” He smiled and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Usually it’s much worse than this.”

She huffed. “You’re not being helpful.”

“Hey.” He touched her cheek and she turned to him. “I love you.”

Her features softened, and when he leaned forward to kiss her, she met him halfway, her lips soft and yielding against his. 

He kissed her, and kissed her, and—

He pulled back abruptly, eyes narrowed. “Were you just trying to scratch your face against my beard?” he demanded. “Diana, you can’t do that!”

“This itching is insufferable,” she grumbled.

“You’re insufferable,” he retorted and started to get up.

“Steve,” she called out after him. “Where are you going?”

He waved his hand at her. “To shave.”

By day ten, Diana seemed to have finally accepted the fact that she needed to just wait it out.

“What’s this supposed to be?” she asked Steve while he dragged the tip of one of those easily washed-off markers along her forearm, the tip of his tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth in concentration. 

“A dog,” he said, a little more defensively than he meant.

They were sitting on the floor in the living room, backs against the couch, her pulse a flutter beneath his fingertips where his hand was clasped around her wrist as he showed her how he, as a young kid, had entertained himself during his own bout of chickenpox. At least, he thought, this was not the kind of ink that had once left his bedsheets stained with purple splotches for 2 years. 

Diana squinted and wrinkled her brow. “Doesn’t look like a dog,” she admitted. 

“Yeah, well… There’s only so much here I can work with.” He gestured vaguely towards the fading dots on her skin. In another day or two, he knew, there would be no trace of them left. 

She made a face, and he chuckled, helpless against it. 

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to get creative,” he reminded her, his thumb brushing over her chin. “Now let’s do your other arm. Here,” he handed her his marker. "Wanna give it a go?" 

* * *

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Steve asked her on the morning when she was finally going back to work.

Admittedly, it had not been, Diana thought as she sipped her coffee. Sure, idleness had been maddening at times, and sure, she would not miss the damned itching, but she had quite enjoyed being cared for in a way she’d never needed before and staying in bed past the time when her alarm would usually go off and having Steve around, their time together no longer fractured and interrupted—as though making up for occasionally not seeing each other for days at a time, thanks to his missions or hers. That, and she had won every game of scrabble, entirely dismissing his argument that they were only supposed to use words from one language.

“I thought you would never kiss me again,” she noted, glancing at him over the rim of her cup and trying very hard to bite back her smile.

Steve gaped at her for a moment, his jaw visibly dropping an inch.

“I was annoyed, not crazy,” he argued, and then, as if to prove the point, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.

Her fingers skittered over his clean-shaven jaw. “Don’t make a habit out of this,” she murmured. “I’ll never tease you again for _overreacting_ when you’re not feeling well,” she admitted when he stood up and picked up their plates.

Steve hummed. “Small victories for us both.”

And then he sneezed.

Diana snapped her head up in alarm. “Steve?”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I’m just—”

He sneezed again.

She got up, only then noticing the colour on his cheeks and the feverish glint in his eyes. How his breathing was just a little on the ragged side. 

She pressed a hand to his cheek, her brows knitting together in a frown.

“You’re hot.”

“You only say that because you like me,” Steve joked, half-heartedly.

“I’m going to call my assistant, say I will not be coming in today.”

“You don’t need to do that,” he called after her.

“You’re not well,” Diana pointed out, her fingers already moving over the screen of her phone. She glanced up at him. “And maybe I’ll get to tape oven mitts to _your_ hands this time.”

Steve sneezed again.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was my last entry for Wonderrev Week 2020. Thanks everyone for stopping by :) Please feel free to check my other two stories - [time of our lives](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25306759) and [over the mountains and under the stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25377988) \- if you missed them! 
> 
> Again, a million and a half thanks go to the amazing **akajb** for betaing everything, and for putting up with me in general :P 
> 
> Also, I've got some good (hopefully??) news for you, too - there will be another story from this universe ~~because I love making my favourites suffer~~ because I enjoy writing light and fluffy stuff, every now and then. It's already done and I'll likely share it within the next several weeks, so - stay tuned!


End file.
